


Do you see me with your heart?

by Kakashisith



Series: The life and love of Winnetou [2]
Category: Winnetou - Karl May
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bisexual Male Character, Biting, Blood and Injury, Confusion, Depression, Feelings Realization, First Kiss, Fist Fights, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Native American Character(s), Slang
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-10
Updated: 2020-06-16
Packaged: 2021-03-03 18:40:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24650218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kakashisith/pseuds/Kakashisith
Relationships: Old Shatterhand/Winnetou
Series: The life and love of Winnetou [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1786957
Kudos: 10





	1. Chapter 1

Old Death was drinking again. Being drunk was his coping mechanism.  
He was fighting with depression and been alone for too long.  
Now he was propping up the saloon, breathing in smoky air. He raised his hand with less coordination than a concussed troll and slurred more than spoke, "Whiiiissssskeeey."  
A door creaked open and a young man with blond hair and well-built body stepped in and looked around. He had the kind of face that stopped people in their tracks. His eyes were a mesmerising deep ocean blue, flecks of silvery light performed ballets throughout. His face was strong and defined, his features molded from granite. His usually playful smile had drawn into a hard line across his face.  
When he noticed the old man with whiskey, his smile etched its way back into his face.  
"Come on," he went to the other man, "you should get some sleep."  
Old Death looked up, ecognizing him. "Ah...it`s you, greenhorn...Just leave me alone..." he almost fell asleep again.  
The map of wrinkles on his face told of the most incredible journey. His eye lines told of laughter, of warm smiles and affection. His forehead told of worries past and worries present.  
The younger man touched his shoulder again, gently so he didn`t hurt the other.  
"Get up, sir."The younger man grabbed Old Death`s shoulder to hoist him up. The old man was very tall, but he was thin. The younger was strong enough to get him to the second floor, where they shared a room.  
The room contained two beds, neatly made, two straight-backed chairs, a washstand, a bureau--without any mirror--and a small table. There were no drapery curtains at the dormer windows, no pictures on the wall. All day the sun had been pouring down upon the roof, and the little room was like an oven for heat. A big fly was buzzing angrily at one of them now, up and down, up and down, trying to get out.

After two hours, Old Death woke up again. He just couldn`t sleep. In his sleeplessness he was drunk on silence. For hours it has seeped into his pores, dowsing his mind in its thick toxicity. The usefulness of his thoughts left long ago, leaving these fatigued neurones to fire almost randomly- flailing without direction. Old Death wanted so much to not to think at all, he wanted to be absorbed into the darkness that the night promised him hours ago. The old Westman wanted to be waking refreshed to streaming white daylight, unaware of the hours between then and now. But as usual his wishes ment nought and behind these closed lids the idiocy continues.  
"Goddamit!" he swore quietly. But not quietly enough, because the younger man in other bed moved himself a little.  
He sat down to his bed again, not wanting to wake his young companion. All he knew about him, was his name, Charles or Karl, in German.  
"Is there something troubling you, sir?" came the sleepy voice.  
"Just personal problems. Don`t worry about it."  
His companion shook his shoulders and continued with his sleep.

When Old Shatterhand woke up, it was about late morning. Old Death was gone again.  
Clouds dominated the morning sky leaving transitory patches of blue. Though they were mostly white there was a hint of greyness, a suggestion that rain may play a part in the day to come.  
He walked to the balcony, to enjoy fresh air. Old Death had smoked soo much, that entire room was filled with thick air. He opened also the window, to clean the air.  
The scent of rain hung in the air as he watched the sky darken and the colors fade away as morning fully arrived. Pinks, yellows, and reds disappeared first. Blue soon followed, overtaken by the grayness climbing over the mountain tops. But as the mist thickened and the unmistakable roll of thunder growled threateningly, one color hung on, rapidly fading. Orange.It didn't take long until the husky color faded. Rain splattered the floor.  
He went inside.  
The bar was already open, so the young blod man thought, that he could get something to eat.  
It was nicely quiet, when he walked to the first floor. Only a lone man sat on a far table, drinking ale.  
He was a tall fellow, lean as a greyhound, flat-flanked, in color neither dark nor fair. His eyes were deep-set and looked out from a face that was burned to the color of a brick. His nose was straight and large, cheeks well hollowed; the face would have been stern but for the humor that lurked about the mouth.  
Old Shatterhand paid no attention to him, cause he didn`t seem to be drunk or dangerous.  
He ordered his strong coffee and some bread with pork.  
Another man walked in, looked around and sat to the opposite side of the table, where the first guy was.  
"Hi Joe!" greeted the first man.  
Joe was a blond young man of thirty-four or thirty-five, with brown hair, full reddish beard, shrewdish blue eyes, a robust frame, and a general air of negligent repose.  
"What`s up?"  
Joe yawned. "Nothing new, except I saw an Apache...I believe it was Apache."  
"Don`t touch `em. It`s peace-time right now!"warned the first man.  
"I know, I am bored."  
"Fists are itchy?"  
Joe nodded, then gazed at Old Shatterhand`s direction.  
"Don`t be addle-headed, Joe..."  
"You wanna argy?" asked Joe, eyes narrowing.  
The other shook his head.  
"No, just bring me some base burner."  
But Joe seemed not to hear. Instead he sat down next to Old Shatterhand and wanted to grab his coffee.  
"Don`t touch it!" warned the young man.  
“Shut your big bazoo.”Joe wanted to try again, but the other stood quickly up, arms crossed over his chest.  
His blue eyes widened, as he felt anger boiling up.  
"I gonna beef you, boy!" warned Joe and wanted to hit the young man. He failed and got a hit with the opponent`s fist to his face and fell backwards, to the floor.  
The other, peaceful man looked at Old Shatterhand, mouth open. "With one single...clout?"  
The young blond man was about to turn around, when Joe got up on his shaky legs and grabbed a knife.  
"You gonna be cold as a Wagon Tire!" he yelled, attacking him.  
Old Shatterhand wasn`t quick enough to come out from this uninjured- he got a blow into his hip. Angrily, biting his lip from pain, he had to hit Joe again.  
Old Shatterhand sighed and covering his wound, limped back to the second floor, to the room he shared with Old Death. Blood drops marked his way.  
When he was leaving, he heard Joe`s friend say:" This guy`s a real curly Wolf..."


	2. Chapter 2

Blood, blood everywhere.  
Crashes could be heard in the distance. Gunfire. Screams. Cries. Something was happening again, but Old Shatterhand couldn`t go down and check.  
Fear gripped his heart, his pace quickening as they become louder. He cannot go back.  
Steps behind the door. Old Shatterhand didn`t have time to check his bleeding wound, so he grabbed his gun, that he`d left on the table.  
The door was opened abruptly, a tall figure was standing and watching at the blond man, then the blood traces on the floor.  
"My brother?"  
Old Shatterhand looked up and let the gun fall to the floor.  
"Winnetou! My brother!"  
The Apache hurried to his side. "You`re bleeding...is it serious?"  
Old Shatterhand grinned a bit. "Haven`t got time to check it. Will you help me?"  
Winnetou nodded and helped his bloodbrother out from his light brown leather pants.  
"Dunderhead, this man was."Old Shatterhand explained. "He didn`t even listen to his friend. By the way, how did you find me?"  
Winnetou was bandaging his wound, his long fingers gently worked around it. "I came in right after you went up. Saw the man on the floor, hit the way you usually do, Sharlih."  
Then he slowly pushed Old Shatterhand down to the bed and kneeled behind him.  
"Close your eyes, Sharlih," he commanded quietly.  
Old Shatterhand half-turned to look back at the Apache, a questioning expression on his face.  
"Close your eyes." The command was repeated in the same patient, implacable tone the Apache chief delivered all his commands to his men.  
Reflex took over and Old Shatterhand obeyed though he felt a bit of fear and curiosity raising in his chest.  
"How is my brother feeling?" asked Winnetou silently.  
"I feel...safe. Safe and guarded. With you, Winnetou."  
Nodding to himself, Winnetou placed his hand on the younger man's shoulder, the heavy clasp anchoring Old Shatterhand more firmly into the here and now.  
He felt Winnetou`s fingers moving over his neck, to his shoulders under his leather jacket. The weight on his shoulder vanished and Old Shatterhand could hear the quiet rustle of his bloodbrother's robes as Winnetou moved to stand in front of him.  
"Open your eyes, my Sharlih," the voice was still stern, still unrelenting. "Now tell me what you see."  
The young white man complied, raising his eyes to meet Winnetou's, his gaze holding both wariness and a challenge. "I see that which I most desire. I see you, my brother."  
Winnetou swallowed heavily, his eyes turning dark with love, need and desire.  
Old Shatterhand closed his eyes for a moment, trying to relax. Into this raw awakening came a kiss, punishing, hungry lips which pushed at Old Shatterhand's, coaxing him open, invading him.  
Ragged breathing tore at them both as Winnetou pulled back, for the last time, clinging to one slender shred of coherence.  
"Are you certain, Sharlih?"  
In answer, Old Shatterhand's hands ripped open Winnetou's linen shirt, tearing it heedlessly as it was pulled free. Those same hands strayed with purpose up the muscles of his back, palms climbing, fingers digging, pulling, as his lips touched the hard muscles of Winnetou's chest. Teeth bit not at all gently, as Old Shatterhand abandoned all pretext of gentleness.  
"I love you..."  
"Show me how the true love is born,"whispered the young Apache, exposing his throat. "At the end of the day there is no one to blame. "  
"Love and death, it's all the same."came the quiet reply.  
Winnetou felt no need to leash his strength any longer. With a muted rumble deep in his throat, he closed his hands on the sides of Old Shatterhand's face, contacting those lips below him, breaking open something primal in them both.  
He drew one hand down, locking it around Old Shatterhand's throat, feeling the pulse which hammered beneath his fingers.The Apache crushed those lips furiously with his own.  
Winnetou shoved him again backwards to the bed, but his bloodbrother gripped his shoulders to keep balance. The force of the shove sent them both staggering sideways, and Winnetou caught Old Shatterhand in a strong embrace, steadying him, lifting him, taking him with dizzying speed to the huge bed.  
"Sharlih..."  
Climbing onto the bed beside him, the Apache chieftain rolled quickly and pulled the blond man on top of him, manipulating the slender body until their legs slid into place, Old Shatterhand almost astride the larger man's thigh, his erection pressing into Winnetou`s.  
Winnetou then begun biting his neck, shoulders, chest. Old Shatterhand tossed his head to the side, then clutched at Winnetou with spasming fingertips, throat constricted, and the Apache understood what was needed.  
Winnetou stopped moving suddenly, gritting out a harsh command. "Look... at... me, my Sharlih..."  
Those exquisite, radiantly blue-green eyes, brighter with the light of love and lust, wandered aimlessly as they opened, fixing slowly on the face above him, incapable of seeing.  
"Have you...done this with men before?"  
Old Shatterhand shook his head.  
"Uhhh!" Winnetou groaned in surprise. "That makes Winnetou very happy."  
"Why?" asked the young blond man, eyes widened.  
The Apache swallowed nervously. "Sharlih, it's just that... you're so beautiful. So very beautiful," he said, his voice husky. "I want to make love with you." Winnetou lowered his voice to a whisper. "I need... you."  
Old Shatterhand gasped as he was pulled roughly into Winnetou`s strong arms, immediately relaxing into the embrace.  
He wasn't a virgin. He`d been with women, but he'd never had sex with another man or given his heart to anyone. His whole body was lost in the sensations sweeping through it.  
"I love you so much, mein Sharlih." Winnetou repeated, the words sounding much more sierious than the first time he said them.  
Old Shatterhand felt Winnetou's hand slip between their bodies, stroking him, eliciting a gasp of pleasure from his lips. He struggled against the desire, but soon found himself drowning in that kiss again.  
"Mine," the Apache whispered when he broke the kiss.  
Winnetou's hands moved under Old Shatterhand's back, pressing their bodies closer together as the young man's lips attacked his lover's throat. The blond man writhed beneath him, seeking out more contact, loving the feeling of their cocks brushing against each other.  
Old Shatterhand closed his eyes tightly trying to lose himself in the sensation, trying to calm his mind down.  
"Look at me, Sharlih. I want to see your face, to see those eyes that I want to see," the Apache chieftain demanded.  
Old Shatterhand refused, choosing to remain lost in darkness.  
"Look at me," he asked, his teeth digging into the Westman's shoulder."Bitte."  
Old Shatterhand forced his eyes open to meet Winnetou's burning gaze.  
He was unable to look away even when he felt the trickle of oil over his abdomen and thighs, slick fingers gliding over his cock and slipping into his opening.  
The heated touches were transferred to him again, and he felt his legs being coaxed apart. The skilled fingers teased his shaft and tugged at his balls, causing him to groan through gritted teeth.


	3. Chapter 3

This time when Winnetou kissed him, the passion was laced with tenderness, and Winnetou melted against Old Shatterhand's body. The Westman knew it was pointless to fight the kiss; he couldn't lie to himself that much. He twined his hands in Winnetou's long black hair and pulled him down, deepening the embrace.  
The adrenaline and passion of the duel coursed through Old Shatterhand's veins, and he found himself hardening as his tongue plunged deeper into Winnetou's hot mouth. It felt like hours had passed locked together in the kiss.  
This lust was overtaking Old Shatterhand`s mind and body. It horrified him, but a secret part of him liked it.  
He pushed the young Apache down, beneath him, but then cursed himself for that. His hip was still very gentle from the stabwound. But Old Shatterhand did not care.  
Winnetou didn't struggle, he simply allowed himself to be taken, allowed his bloodbrother to ravage his mouth. Old Shatterhand's callused fingers pinched and tugged at his nipple, becoming even rougher when the Apache moaned in response. His hips were grinding into the younger man's in tortuous need, and his desire grew hotter as he felt the response from his new lover.  
His mouth snaked down Winnetou's chest, kissing, biting, licking, devouring, moving lower and lower. He could feel Winnetou's rapid breathing and excitement.  
The sculpted muscles of the Apache's stomach twitched beneath Old Shatterhand's lips, and his legs were shaking with desire, barely able to hold him up. Wasting no time, Old Shatterhand's deft fingers grabbed none too gently Winnetou's erection, and he took it into his mouth immediately.  
This was everything he had ever wanted, better than his fantasies because he could feel the heat of Winnetou's beautiful, bronze skin, taste his lips and hear his ragged breathing. This was real. Old Shatterhand wanted him and loved him back. There was nothing outside of this room. The rest of the world didn't exist. It was all focused down to the man beneath him and the emotions around them. They kissed and touched, slowly, over and over, for ages it seemed, the fire building to a sweet, steady burn.  
Old Shatterhand rolled off of his bloodbrother, gasping for breath. He lay on his side watching Winnetou's chest rise and fall as he caught his breath. Winnetou looked drunk with desire, his eyes half closed, a slight smile curling the corners of his mouth, his cheeks flushed.  
Old Shatterhand found his hands moving unconsciously over the Apache's smooth chest and stomach, cradling his face and neck as his mouth pressed him harder into the floor. The intensity of his feelings surprised him.  
He turned Winnetou gently over, kissing his neck and shoulders. His hands ran over the smooth flesh of his back and rear, reverently. The young Apache raised himself up onto his hands and knees, rocking softly with the delicate caresses. "Is this what you want, Sharlih?" he sighed as Old Shatterhand's hands glided down to his backside.  
The Westman took the small bottle in his hand covering his fingers with slickness before moving them to Winnetou's entrance. He felt the Apache writhe as he touched him, gently slipping a finger inside him. Old Shatterhand was nervous; he had never done this before. He had experimented when he was younger, but it had never gone this far. Other than that, he had only been with women.  
He was also concerned. He didn't want to hurt him.  
Winnetou slowly began to move, grinding his hips. "Don't worry," he said. "You're not hurting me. It feels so good."  
Old Shatterhand kissed his back, moving his hand slowly, adding another finger to stretch him further.  
This was what Winnetou had wanted, more than anything he had ever wanted. He wanted to kiss Old Shatterhand again, to touch him, to feel him inside him.  
"Mein Sharlih," Winnetou purred as he moved Old Shatterhand against the bedstands, into the pile of pillows. He drew long wet kisses up and down Old Shatterhand's inner thighs.  
Old Shatterhand's head lolled back, drugged by Winnetou's touch. He felt warm lips covering him, moving over his nipples and throat, a tongue snaking down his stomach, gentle nibbles along his arms and thighs, then the heat of a mouth closing over his cock. He groaned and arched up in the chair, but just as the sweet rhythm started, it stopped again, and the mouth was replaced by a slick hand caressing him, driving him wild.  
Then the Apache chieftain slid his body up until their lips met again. He moved to suck on Old Shatterhand's earlobe, their hips grinding together. "Want you inside," Winnetoy breathed as he turned in Old Shatterhand's lap. The tip of Old Shatterhand's hard cock was poised at his entrance and the Apache moved, sinking down onto it, the delicious burning feeling overloading his senses as he heard Old Shatterhand moan his name.  
Winnetou took a deep unsteady breath and relaxed his muscles as his weight pushed Old Shatterhand deeper inside him. He had wanted to feel this for so long, and he savored the moment, preserving it in his memory forever. He remained still, his body adjusting before he began to move. He wanted this to last as long as possible. He wanted it to last forever.  
"Ich liebe dich..."  
Old Shatterhand was surrounded by heat, a delicious heat that spread through his senses.  
Then Winnetou began to move in earnest, and Old Shatterhand felt a growl rumble through his throat, his heart close to bursting. So slow and agonizingly sweet, every move that Winnetou made sent a sensuous wave of heat washing over Old Shatterhand, and the young man's soft, impassioned moans and whispered words echoed through Westman's mind.  
Winnetou's back arched against Old Shatterhand's sweating chest with each wiggle of his hips. Old Shatterhand's lips burned as he sucked and nibbled at the Apache's shoulders, muffling his cries against the hot, sweat-slicked skin.  
"So schön," he whispered into Winnetou's ear. "You feel so perfect, Winnetou," he gasped as muscles tightened and released around him. His hands dug into Apache's thighs as he rocked in his lap, the movements small and concentrated. It was torture, but it was so sweet, and he never wanted it to end.  
Winnetou leaned back against him, his head resting on his shoulder. "Touch me," he whispered. "Please touch me..."  
Old Shatterhand's hands moved slowly, first tracing lightly around his nipples, spiraling from the outer edges inward, the skin tightening into peaks as Winnetou's breathing became harsher. He traveled over the planes of his chest and stomach in delicate touches, leaving his bloodbrother wanting more, making him writhe against him in desire.  
Then Old Shatterhand touched the Apache`s neglected member.  
"Nngh, oh yes," Winnetou groaned as he convulsed with pleasure.  
The sounds Winnetou was making nearly drove the Westman over the edge. He wanted to hear more. He closed his hand around Winnetou's erection, caressing gently at first then increasing the contact. The Apache was shaking, grinding, caught between the sensations of the cock inside him and the hand sliding over him.  
The pace was picking up, hot and wild and sweet.  
Old Shatterhand licked up and down the side of Winnetou's neck, whispering, "Ich liebe dich." Suddenly, he felt Winnetou tense around him and ecstasy tore through Old Shatterhand. He groaned and dug his teeth into Winnetou's shoulder as he came, as he felt the heat of the Apache's orgasm spill over his own hand, as the universe exploded around them.  
"Sharlih!!" Winnetou cried out.  
The Apache was trembling, the warmth filling him, his heart pounding. Then he fell back, his bloodbrother`s hands around him, holding him, caressing him.

Next morning they woke up, when the door was pushed open and Old Death walked in. The room was dark, so at first he only noticed Winnetou`s black hair.  
*Looks like greenhorn got himself a lady,*he thought with a smile on his face.  
Then he noticed Winnetou`s leather clothing all over the floor, also his roommate`s hat and blood stained pants.  
"Charles..."he touched the young man`s shoulder, "are you okay?"  
A pair of dark brown eyes looked up at him, and another pair of blue ones.  
"What`s this?" wondered the old Westman. "Winnetou? You know my roommate?"  
Winnetou laughed. "Of course! This is my bloodbrother Old Shatterhand."  
"Old... Shatterhand?" Old Death`s mouth fell open."So you lied to me... let me call you a greenhorn?! Didn`t tell me who you are!!"


End file.
